“I have to say-” That was it. She had had enough. She couldn’t stand to hear another word come out of his mouth. Not anymore. Not while she had a chance. And she wasn’t going to waste it. Her lessons from Durantel came flowing back to her, and she reacted instantaneously. She felt like she moved through molasses, time slowed, her heart skipped a beat. Rhona swung her staff low, and drove it with great force where the wooden stave connected with Cezare’s kneecap. He howled as he clutched at his knee, dropping to the ground in pain.

“You fucking cunt! I’ll-” Cezare didn’t finish his sentence as her staff came crashing down on his head. The last expression on his face showed complete surprise as she struck him. She swung again. And again. And again. She kept swinging until she could hardly breathe. Her lungs burned with fire, and her limbs stung from the blows delivered. When Rhona stopped to catch her breath, she realized then what she had done as she stared at the carnage before her. He wasn’t moving. Cezare’s face resembled a bloodied mess. Blood had pooled beneath his head, while brown curls stuck to his face slick with crimson. The walls and surrounding cobblestones bore witness of what she had done, splattered with dark red droplets. She looked down at herself, her eyes widening at the sight of bright red blood showing starkly against her linen dress. Her hands, and wrists held evidence, and she presumed her face as well. Her breathing came in shallow waves. Gods. Did she kill him? She needed to go. She needed to get out of here. As she turned around, she came face to face with Daro’Vasora.

The Khajiit’s eyes were wide, and for a moment, words were stuck in her throat at the sight of the unassuming Rhona covered in the blood of a man she might have just bludgeoned to death. “Shit, that’s… tell me later. We need to leave, now.”

“I… Daro’Vasora… I swear… it’s…” Rhona couldn’t find the words as she stumbled towards her, her hands slipping on the wooden staff slick with blood, “I didn’t mean to… he… he threatened to kill Calen, and I… I couldn’t let him.”

Daro’Vasora gripped Rhona by the shoulders. “Look, I’ve crippled men for life for less, I don’t know what your business with that asshole is, but the city’s under siege and unless we move we’re all going to be trapped.” she released Rhona and wound up a heavy kick into the prone man’s abdomen, prompting an ejection of blood from Cezare’s mouth. “There, he threatened to kill a friend, I hit him after you did, you’re morally off the hook. You can tell me on the way, but now isn’t the time for being conflicted or scared, you understand?”

Friendship & Falmer

A Judena and Alim story

Judena didn't feel quite as scared as she rightfully could have been. It was definitely dark, danger was lurking just outside their limited field of vision, some of their companions already went ahead to clear the way while the party left behind had proven themselves capable in the last encounter.

It was all familiar to Judena, her beard slowly deflated as she let her thoughts wonder. The calm she felt was simply a confidence in knowing as tricky as the current situation was they'd make it through. She held faith. The Falmer were certainly tough but they did not spook her the way they clearly spooked the likes of Anifas, or was it Anrenfar? The vomiting was rather unbecoming but who was she to judge, she remembered her first few shocking encounters that had her topple head over heels from fainting.

A stone skittering caught her ear and her beard expanded again. It would help knowing where the Falmer were-

She gently tapped the heel of her hand against her forehead, quietly she approached one of their sneaky party members. Someone who was skillful enough to remain undetected by the sensitive Falmer ears.

She approached Alim tapping his shoulder, leaning down to whisper, "Aladdin, psst. Let us work together to remove some of the immediate Falmer, give our companions some peace of mind while we wait for the way to be clear."

Alim blinked, his expression somewhat startled and somewhat bemused from the sudden pat and name change, as he had just been running his hand over the now bandaged wound on his arm. Thankfully he had not been cut on a nerve, and the cut really was not as deep as he had thought. There had just been quite a bit of blood, and he always felt a bit superstitious of using an injured limb too much until it scarred over.

Still, despite his raised brow initially, he nodded. "Now that sounds like what I would call a good time." He replied matter of fact, a cunning glimmer in his dark eyes. He'd cleaned his sword already, and with a deft movement the blade was unsheathed once more.

"Try not to hiss too much. You kind of hiss when you're particularly excited." He joked.

"Oh, I had not noticed!" Judena whispered, tapping the pads of her finger tips against her lips. Inevitably hissing more, she thanked him. "Thank you for saying so, Alam."

She bent back up gesturing with her spear, "The Falmer are just beyond our vision, I will use the spell Detect Life to reveal their positions. I point you in the right direction, you remove them with the element of surprise. You are sneaky, yes?"

"Am I sneaky!?" Alim exclaimed, and while it wasn't very loud, it was louder than a sneaky person. He was a bit confused though, close to offended. He thought his reputation as a ne'er-do-well proceeded him. He looked around once he caught his voice though as if he had just alerted the guards as he crept out with a crown jewel. His next words were lower in volume. "Yes...yes I am quite sneaky."

"Quietly as quiet can be, we will remove some of the Falmer in our immediate vicinity. I think you can do it, I believe in you." She said.

He gave a wink, and awaited the Argonian female (he believes) to cast the necessary spells in order to give him the edge™.

She nodded, in her hands she gathered the magicka for the spell. She spoke the spell easily from memory, she connected her forefinger and thumb together in a circle, where the magicka travelled in visible blue light. She brought the circle of her fingers up to her eye to peer through, now seeing life through it. She looked down to Alim seeing his distinct red life-blood the magic highlighted him with. She looked now into the gloom of the darkness, shapes the size of various Falmer. She hummed, concentrating on the spell judging the distance.

"Thirty-seven steps to your immediate right, then twelve more straight you will arrive within three steps of a Falmer. They are hunched with possible armour. Be sure to aim true. Return following the steps and I will guide you to the next one. There seems to be about four just a few feet outside of our magelight. They are far too close for comfort." Judena said, blinking she held the spell steady. "I will keep an eye on you."

"UuuuuuuUUUUHHHHhhhuuuuuh," His voice rose and fell when she mentioned how many steps he was to take, suddenly conscious of how long his steps were and if she had measured them. He was not unmethodical, but stepping on instinct was usually more helpful in these situations. "Uuuuunderstood."

He made his way through the rocky terrain, his steps as measured as could be, hands out to steady himself just in case. Thirty six, thirty seven...he turned straight, and headed another twelve steps, nearly bumping into a Falmer, sucking in his breath at the scaly, slimy sight or smell of it. Luckily its back was turned, squatting down and eating something nondescript. Without a sound, Alim shoved his sword in the Falmer's back. He caught it as it fell, letting it touch the ground softly.

Judena watched on, approving of Alim's approach. When he successfully returned, she patted his back. "One down and three more to go. I will not lead you astray, Alment. You can trust me." She said earnestly. She breathed in gathering her magicka once again peering with the aid of the spell. She saw a hulky Falmer turned in their direction, paying attention to them and their companions.

"Our next target is paying attention to the group, this will be a little more complicated. I will lead you around the current Falmer then I will make a small distraction, like throwing a stone, get their attention away so you may have the opportunity to strike." She whispered, self-conscious of the Falmer paying attention. Concerned.

"You will need to take... forty-six steps to the left and forward, you will be moving in an angle around the Falmer. You then will then need to take five steps to the right. You will arrive within four feet of the Falmer, my stone will make a little noise to grab their attention. When you hear the stone, pause then take four steps right to strike." Judena's instructions were clear, she deemed her judgement fairly close. Adjusting a little based on how big of steps she saw Alim take, which weren't nearly as long in stride as hers would have been. "Please move slowly for this particular one. They are paying attention."

Alim wondered how hard a 4 letter word was to pronounce a bit too long, because he hadn't been paying the most attention to her for a few sentences. Luckily, he had an apt mind and her words recorded in the back of his mind flooded back, realization dawning. "Ah, I see Judalia." He replied, giving her quite a nice false name if he said so himself, and promptly turned around without waiting for her reaction to go and perform the instructed steps. It was only halfway through his walk did he idly wonder how smart it was to taunt her if she was the one to throw the rocks, but then he shook his head. He knew his success benefited her as much as it did himself, as well.

He made it to the destination, and waited for the stone's noise.

Judena cocked her head at the strange way he pronounced her name, perhaps he had heard wrong from their first introductions. She decided it would be best to clarify upon his return. She briefly wondered if she had his name incorrect? No, it couldn't be. He kept answering to what she referred to him as. Naturally he would have corrected her, had she been wrong.

She took a deep breath, beginning to feel a bit of strain from the consistent use of her magicka. She watched his lively form make his approach, her breathing hitched when the Falmer turned in his direction. Suspicious, jerking movements, Alim came to a soft stop at the Falmer’s movements. The Falmer took a step closer to Alim, she scooped up a stone then took quick aim throwing at the Falmer’s feet. The Falmer turned at the noise with a deep guttural hiss.

Alim's next words were merely breathed, but the Falmer's enhanced hearing caught the entire slang as the Spellsword's blade began to fall.

"Bitch."

The Falmer didn't have any time to react, even respond verbally above the beginning of a 'peep' before Alim chopped through its neck with ease, a swift knife through butter. He couldn't muffle the sound of the body falling, but luckily, he realized whatever other Falmer in the area didn't take any heed to it. He did catch the head though, regretting it a moment later when its open neck oozed what he imagined was blood.

Alim made his way back over to his partner, setting the head down gently halfway and doing his best not to stumble in the dark.

When Alim approached back onto the safety of the Gazebo Judena let out a long sigh of exertion. Slouching forward to speak to him, "Good job, hah, Alan. I believe this is not the best time to address it but, I think you may have heard my name incorrectly in our introductions. My name is Judena and not Judalia." She said gently, keeping her voice low at a whisper. "You were very close, however."

As Alim wiped his blade (and arm) off, he paused halfway through the stroke and deadpan looked at Judena, brow raised. He had no idea what to say.

"You uh." He started, letting silence hang for a few moments. Should he tell her? She he not? Would this get annoying eventually? Find out next time "You do know that my name is Alim and you haven't said it correctly for...ever." He didn't seem mad at all, but just perplexed. He had not spent much time around the Lizardfolk of Blackmarsh, so he simply chocked it up to her not being used to the names of men or mer.

He finished wiping his sword, and held out a hand to shake. "Let's start over, shall we? I am Alim. Hello, friend."

Judena straightened like a board, her 'beard' shrinking with a sharp inhale of surprise. She knocked the heel of her hand against her head, "My apologies, Alim. I- I am very sorry, there is no true light to read by and refer back to my logbook. Please forgive my poor, very poor memory." She took his hand in both of hers, "Truly I meant no offense." She bent forward, earnestly.

"Yes please I would like to start this over, friend." She said gently squeezing the young man's hand. "Please do not hesitate to correct me."

Alim was expecting the Argonian to either refuse or be very rigid, but he found his face falling as if he had just seen a doggy. He shook her hand, smiling. "It is completely fine, Judena. And you do very good magic, don't let anyone tell you otherwise. You're the best Falmer killing wingman I have had."

She nodded, giving his hand a firm shake as well. A pleasant hum thrummed out of her throat, "Thank you, what spells I do know I know quite well. You do not get very far in this business otherwise. Now, Alim. Are you ready for the last two? They look as if they are together. Easy pickings as you have demonstrated."

He finished shaking her hand and picked up his sword, resting it on his shoulder casually. "Why, I would be delighted to kill a few more Falmer. As my father always said, killing the last two Falmer is the thing to do. Well, he didn't really say that, but he would if he was here so we'll go with that."

She chuckled at his joke, "Let us go with that, indeed. Your not-father is a smart man."

Summoning her magicka once again she straightened seeing the final two together. The pair of Falmer were huddled together hiding among some rocks, fearful of the autonomous searchlights. Seeing them trying to hide had given Judena a wave of sympathy. They were simply doing what her companions were hoping to do right now. She watched them, feeling her magicka begin to strain much more quickly than when she started. Judena counted the steps, these two were the closest, dangerously close to hearing even quietest conversation had they decided to pay attention.

"20 steps directly to our left, behind a section of rocks - hiding. A pair of Falmer, huddled. Hold..." She watched closely seeing the Falmer’s form reach for something, using both hands. "I believe one of them is armed, two handed weapon." She sighed, bringing her hand away from her eye. "This might be trickier to do this muted, if you were to remove the one holding the weapon first you can make short work of the secondary one."

Alim nodded, using what little light he had to check and see the rolling and jagged landscape of the cavern, wondering if there was any way he could use it to his advantage. He stroked his chin with a cultured hand, a professional air about him.

Alim turned to Judena. "I think I can get them both, but just in case one managed to run, I'll make sure he does right toward you so be ready." He informed her, and without further ado he crouched and made his way back toward the Falmer, choosing the left side of the cavern as that gave him a small advantage in height. A very small passageway that merely led to a short overhang was Alim's path. Most would think only a cat or a small animal could traverse it, but Alim just barely managed to hug the wall, sword out and body flat against the cavern's side as he snuck closer.

Soon he found himself within a (admittedly very long) jumping distance from the two Falmer, and they were none the wiser. Though that would not last long. He was too close with little cover, and he had to think quickly. Knowing he would need to make the jump, the idea popped into his head and he muttered the spell for 'feather' upon himself. Granted, he was not very good at such a spell. However, it would still help him gain some air, and as soon as the flash of the spell was unleashed, he leaped for his life.

One Falmer chirped in surprise, while the unarmed one looked up and tilted its head, before pointing and chittering. Its companion spun and attempted to hack at where it imagined an enemy would be, but Alim was still above him due to the spell. He bent his legs to dodge the swipe, then kicked and struck the Falmer in the head. He suddenly released the spell and dropped, cutting into the fallen Falmer's chest cavity. The other tried to grab at Alim, and the spellthief got a few scratches from the feral assault before his pommel found the Falmer's nose.

It grunted, and decided this was not worth it and scrambled out of their hiding spot, right toward Judena. Alim cursed and swiped, but the Falmer was a bit too slippery at the moment.

Judena watched the fight with anticipation, when the Falmer came darting out of it's hiding spot after the sounds of Alim's fight made its way to her ears. She squinted watching it get closer, then braced going still as a stone statue.

When it came within a few feet she towered above the blind creature, her beard expanded. Much like spotting a fish in the stream Judena struck down with her spear through it's neck, silencing any final cry it had. A loud thunk into the ground where the spear followed through, blood splattering up the shaft. She tsked, a clicking sound between her teeth. "Used a bit too much force it would seem."

Gently rolling the dead Falmer to its side, its death was imminent, and it struggled no more. "Find peace." She whispered removing the spear slowly as to not jostle the body. She transmuted the blood from out of her spear, magicka light flowing through the grains of wood into her hand. Once it gathered she shook it free, blood splattering at her feet.

"That was quite the bit of work but I believe we have removed all the Falmer surrounding our immediate vicinity. You were a great help, Alim." She commented brightly.

Alim jogged over to see her having dispatched the Falmer in short order, thankfully. "Yep, we make a good team." He replied, giving a wink. "Let's go back and inform the others of our success." It was an offer he hoped she would agree with, because impressing his employer, the ladies, and perhaps the lady employer was a certain bonus in their achievement here.

Alim and Anifaire

A LadyTabris & POOHEAD189 collab

---

A few days earlier...

The Altmer woman took one more turn, stepping into another alleyway, glancing around to read the signs. With a sigh, she squinted at the nearest one, an alchemy shop. Had she been by here before? She couldn't tell. Looking around her, she tried to find any landmarks she recognized, to no avail. Frustrated, she sat down on some storage barrels near the shop.

Anifaire knew how to get a handful of places - a few shops, the bank, those sorts of things - but only from the University. Without the landmark, she found she had no clue how to find her way back to that part of the town. Suddenly, she wished she had spent more time in the city. Fear had always held her back from it. Thugs robbing a rich Altmer lady didn't seem unlikely, and even now the though occured to her, though it sounded less fightening in comparison to the Dwemer ruin ordeal.

As it was, she managed not to be too afraid, sitting on the barrels, trying to make sense of where she was in reference to the shop signs around her.

Unfortunately for her, she was noticed by a few fellows of an unsavory sort with their eyes trailing on her for more reasons than one. She was quite a bit taller than most of the crowd traversing the city. Her pretty face and obvious wealth sent alarm bells through the up and coming gang of ruffians, freshly immigrated from the wars in the North.

However, as fate would have it, she had also caught the attention of someone else. Someone who was an enigma to the oft sheltered Altmer. The dashing Alim had taken to the local marketplace, casually eyeing the merchandise and shops as he waded through the packed streets. He decided he wasn't in the mood to thieve today, feeling his surviving the exploding mountain pressed his luck far more than he was comfortable. Instead, he decided to spent a bit more than usual, tossing a few Gold coins a fruit vendors way before taking his pick of the stock. But Alim wasn't going to eat his assortment of food on the ground, and instead made his way atop one of the many buildings overlooking the marketplace to enjoy his meal.

The apples were quite good, but the peaches were to die for. He was just about to skin his last peach, a small knife in his hands as he began to peel the soft skin off when he noticed a movement down below sticking out like a sore thumb.

On second glance, it was quite a beautiful sore thumb. A sore thumb nearly seven feet tall, resplendent in a rich dress. He had never actually gotten to speak to Anifaire more than a few encounters, their being completely different people. But he wasn't above admiring a pretty Altmer, and he simply ate his peach and watched over her until she sat down atop a barrel below him, looking defeated.

After a moment, he realized she had to be lost. He was about to capitalize on the situation and maybe surprise her and amuse her with a few tricks as he helped her find her way, but fate threw another curve ball. The spellsword blinked as several gentlmen he would describe as 'thugs' materialized out of the crowd and began to slowly surround her, blocking any view from the street. Two were wearing hoods, but if Alim had to guess it was three Imperials, a Khajiit and a Breton.

"Might you be lost, miss?" The Breton asked, a dangerously mischeivous edge to his voice.

As the thugs slowly boxed her in, Anifaire jumped up from her barrel. She barely made it one step before she was cut off by a large Breton man. In an attempt not to seem frightened, she straightened her back, using her height to her advantage. She was nose to nose with the man, but he still had far more strength than she did.

Briefly, Alim wondered how these thugs could ger away with messing with someone in daylight, even in an alleyway. He'd thought the Imperial City wasn't as lax in their guardsmen. Either way, he wasn't about to let this happen to a comrade. Breathing in, he stretched his arms a bit and braced his hands on the building's ledge.

"No," she replied. "Just enjoying the day. If you don't mind, I'll just be on my way." She moved to step around him, but he stepped in tune with her to block her path again. She frowned, considering how to get out of the situation, but she couldn't see any way out. There were four more of them, blocking her off from the street. Were they after her coin? Nervously, she reached up and covered the jewelled necklace at her throat.

The Breton gave a grin, and held a knife. "Now now, don't get greedy on us..." and he reached for the necklace.

Suddenly, he felt a hand grip his arm and the men around him, too busy focusing on blocking the outer alley view, gave a start. It probably looked like Alim had materialized out of thin air to Anifaire, as he'd landed behind her and slipped under her arms to block the Breton's grab.
"Whoa now," Alim said. "Is that anyway to help a lady? Offer to aid her and then ask for payment immediately?"

Anifaire nearly jumped in shock at his arrival, at first glance assuming him to be another assailant. With relief, she noted who he was, from the expedition: Alim, the strange one.

He let the incredulous stares and open mouth astonishment of his appearance hang as he casually unhanded the dagger from the Breton and handed it to Anifaire, as if it had belonged to her all along. "Thank you so much for your assistance, either way. I was looking for her all over."

"You was...what?" one of the Imperials asked, a brutish looking man with scarred hands and a ruddy complexion.

"You know her?" The Breton asked, eyeing Alim's sword and his obvious skills of sneaking. This mark was looking a bit less easy now than they had originally thought. For his part, the dashing young spellsword placed a hand on his chest and gave the lady Altmer a longing look. "Alas yes, she is my fiance." he declared, before leaning over and whispering to the Breton. "She's a tad slow in the head." Of course, her Elvish ears allowed her to hear every word.

Too stunned to react, she slowly processed the words "a tad slow in the head" as she daintily held the dagger as though it would stab her of its own accord. She scrambled to confirm what was being said, relieved to see a familiar, if odd, face.

"I- um- there you are!" she stuttered. She glanced at the men around her nervously to see if they were backing off. The Altmer stepped hesitantly behind Alim, just wanting to avoid the Breton man. Fiance? This guy? She held her breath, hoping the deception was enough. But, really, would they believe that? Her? And this... She nearly shook her head, but stopped herself.

"It does my heart wonders to see her safe," the Spellsword said with relief, and tossed a gold peice to the Breton with a subtle flick, followed by patting the cheek of the closest Imperial. The Khajiit tilted its head in confusion as Alim's feather spell on the gold coin suddenly took effect, and the wealth halted in midair, before floating further within the alley as if a powerful gust of wind redirected its course. All of the thugs but the Breton chased after it.

"Now, if you'll excuse us kind sir, me and the misses must be going." Alim said, hooking his arm around Arinfaire's and escorting her out of the alleyway into the more crowded market. "Let's go dear. We've many things to do today."

Anifaire blinked a few times in the direction of the floating coin as she was dragged off by her rescuer. She mumbled an uncertain "of course" as they moved away from the alleyway and into the crowds. Once safely in the middle of things, Anifaire stopped Alim by the arm and offered him the dagger, held out in front of her as though it might burn.

Alim took a respectful step back, and then took the dagger off her hands. He flipped it, allowing the blade to spin once over before he grabbed the blade between his thumb and forefinger. "You know, the way things are you might need this someday." He said, but he slipped the blade within his belt.

"Alim, right? I, uh. Thank you, for your help." She glanced skeptically at the dagger, thinking she wouldn't know how to if she did.

The spellsword blinked and looked to her with a pleased smile, before giving a dismissive wave and shrugging. "It's no problem. We're companions after all." He replied. The spellsword looked around and made sure they were in no one's actual way, before continuing. "You're not used to the city, are you?"

"Well, I used to live at the University," Anifaire said with a shrug. "But I'm not accustomed to being lost in the marketplace by myself, no. I've never stayed at an inn on my own either, so it appears these are days full of new experiences." Longingly, she remembered having the aid of her father's retainers back home. She hadn't had to occupy herself with these things.

"Yeah I could tell..." Alim said, honestly pondering on how to help her. "First thing's first. The whole deal with the city is that there's more people than you're probably used to. And you might not have noticed but you kind of stand out. Not many imperials are used to a beautiful rich Altmer that gets lost easily..."

He glanced around at the shops within reach, pondering as he looked. "What you need is..." his voiced trailed off, and without a word he slipped away into the crowd as if born in it like a fish to water, before slipping back in front of her with a rolled up item. "A cloak." With a few quick motions, the cloak unfolded and he wrapped it around himself, his thick mane of hair and his face concealed and wrapped tight until he looked up at her, a knowing smile on his face before he unwrappred himself. "See? Can't cover your height, but it'll help you remain somewhat incognito."

Anifaire glanced at the bundled cloak in surprise when he reemerged from the crowd with it. Had he just stolen that? She shook off the thought and nodded in agreement. "Ah, I understand. That is good advice." The Altmer touched her stomach, feeling the lump of her coinpurse underneath her clothing. That had been advice from her mother, perhaps the reason nobody had pickpocketed her yet.

"My mother told me I should hide my valuables, but I'm unprepared, today," she admitted. "I haven't been thinking very clearly lately."

Alim wrapped the cloak up again to make it portable for her, though he caught the subtle wording of her next sentence and couldn't help but ask. "Why lately?" It was a quick and casual question, however he found he was very interested in hearing her explanation.

"After the business at the Dwemer ruin. I've never done anything like that before." She was uncertain she'd be able to explain effectively, and struggled with the next words. "It's as though... I'm not sure, I just can't get rid of the feeling of being chased by the Falmer in the back of my mind."

The spellsword regarded her for a moment, sympathy on his face. He sometimes forgot some people could be effected by such things in a deeper manner. He was often afraid as well, but it was an old feeling he was quite used to. He handed the wrapped up cloak to her, giving an encouraging smile. "I know the feeling. But it'll pass very soon, trust me." He chuckled. "You'll find Falmer are also not a common sight in about any location." He gave her a bow once the cloak was out of his hands.

Standing up, he inclined her to follow him with a motion of his head. "I'll show you around town if you're still lost."

Anifaire unfurled the cloak, wrapping it about herself. She left the hood down, but the fabric still covered her fine dress. She smiled gratefully and nodded. "Sure, that would be appreciated."

Evening, 21st of Second Seed, 4E208
Anvil, inside the Frisky Dolphin

Still lost in thought, Gregor found that his wandering feet had taken him to a tavern and he blinked a few times to let his eyes acclimatize to the moody lighting inside, the door swinging shut behind him. He cast a practiced, habitual glance at the patrons and took a double take when he recognized someone -- the Khajiit from their ragtag group, the same one he’d tended to at Elenglynn and who had fallen out with Rhea so ferociously outside the city gates. She looked the way he felt. Unaware of the conversation that Daro’Vasora had just had with Roux but intrigued by the pouch, the modest tower of coins on the table and her brooding appearance, Gregor approached at a languid pace and offered her his most winning smile.

“Hello again, Daro’Vasora,” the Imperial said and inclined his head in greeting. “May I sit with you?”

Looking up to see Gregor approach, one of the few survivors from the Rangers, Daro’Vasora was surprised to see him appear to be so… cheerful. She gestured across from him as her eyes scanned over the parchment in front of her, deciding what was worth eating and what was likely to cause gastrointestinal distress the next morning. “Be my guest. To what do I owe the honour?” she asked flatly, glancing up only occasionally from the menu.

Gregor accepted graciously, sat down opposite the Khajiit and began to relieve himself of the swords he carried on his person, setting them aside beneath the table. While the unhurried and pleasant expression on his face remained, his slow and cumbersome movements betrayed more weariness and fatigue than he was readily willing to admit, and there was no hiding the bags beneath his eyes. Gregor noticed Daro’Vasora had obtained new clothes -- his own outfit and armor remained the same, immaculately cared for; the stains of Dwemer blood had been washed out already.

“Coincidence, really,” he said and settled into his seat properly. “I wasn’t looking for you in particular. Now that you’re here, though, I do have a question for you. You see, I’m a little… lost, myself,” Gregor continued and he rubbed his brow with his left hand. “I wanted to fight against the Dwemer and help defend my homeland but recent events have made it perfectly clear such thoughts are wishful thinking. We are not prepared for this.” He paused and cleared his throat -- he looked much more serious now. “I’ve gathered you’re something of an expert on the Dwemer. What do you think? What are you going to do next?”

Propping an elbow up on the table, she rested her cheek against a balled fist. “The sentiment is similar. I’d forsaken rationality for the sake of vengeance, and in the end, what did we accomplish? Wipe out a minor scouting outpost? As soon as they were prepared for us, it was like Imperial City all over again.” She sighed, glancing around for something to chew on. “The Legion’s best in Imperial City was discarded like a plaything, I think the idea of changing tactics to more hit and run style was worth a shot, but ultimately, the risk is too great. We lucked out because they got complacent, and we figured we’d had a shot against them, but now we’re fighting on their terms, and every time that happens, there’s no winning.”

Deciding on a few gulps of brandy, she mused for a few minutes, trying to figure out how to answer his next question. “I’m honestly not sure what I’m going to do now. I lost mostly everything, and I want to regain some sense of normality. I just don’t know how to do that with what’s going on. You? What would you do in my situation, or your own?”

While Daro’Vasora thought about what she was going to say, Gregor ordered something to drink (wine) and a bite to eat (a cheese platter). He was polite and well-mannered enough to simply let her think, so he leaned back in his seat and folded his hands in his lap until she spoke and posed a question back to him. His eyebrow twitched in annoyance but he managed to keep his expression in line. She was steering the conversation away from what he wanted by implying that she wanted to escape from the conflict. Coward, a cold (and somewhat hypocritical) part of him thought.

“You won’t find that anywhere,” Gregor replied darkly and took a slow, measured sip of his wine, staining his lips crimson. “Tamriel is at war. The Dwemer won’t stop at Cyrodiil. We’re not capable of fighting them now but that is no reason to attempt to retreat back into your old life.” He paused, frowned, and when he continued, his pleasant tone had disappeared entirely and been replaced by something hard and unyielding. “I’m disappointed, Daro’Vasora. You’re an accomplished dungeoneer, highly knowledgeable about the Dwemer, which means you’re far more important to the war effort than the average Khajiit, and here you are instead, thinking about the things that you’ve lost instead of the greater good. I’ll readily admit that the Dwemer that came back are a far cry from the ones that left Tamriel all those years ago, but who’s to say that the secret to defeating them doesn’t lie in their past?”

He shifted in his seat and pushed away his cheese platter so that he could lean forward, resting his elbows on the table, his dark eyes gazing intently in Daro’Vasora’s. It was obvious now that Gregor’s sheepish uncertainty of earlier had been a facade -- he knew exactly what he wanted. “In your situation I would put that clever wit and knowledge of yours to good use in deciding where to find the answers we need. I certainly wouldn’t turn my back on the Empire in search of ‘normality’.”

The Khajiit’s expression remained impassive, she just slowly emptied the glass as Gregor went on a suddenly impassioned tirade to, what, goad her into action? While she considered herself culturally Imperial, Gregor perhaps embodied the over-zealous nature that seemed all too common in the guards. “Oh, so you’re the expert now; you know exactly what range and capabilities they have. You should know one thing about armies, it’s that they shouldn’t overrun their supply lines. That alone tells me they can’t be everywhere. Save your disappointment, it’s unbecoming for a stranger to try and pressure someone to die for a cause that only they believe in.” she rolled her eyes, watching as a small loaf of bread and a serving of salmon were headed her way. The waiter put it down before her, and refilled the brandy. She slid a pair of Septims his way, which were taken with gratitude before he disappeared to the back.

“What is the greater good, hm? An Empire forged from the bones of Tiber Septim’s ruthless conquest, or maybe the Dwemer see themselves as the heroes for reclaiming their birthright? I heard a phrase long ago when I was a child that always resonated with me; Wars only work if both sides think they’re righteous.” She picked off a chunk of the bread and chewed it for a few moments, staring Gregor back in the eyes the entire time, unblinking, no passion of fires behind the feline slits.

“I’ve passed on what I know to the Legions, you’re also making some rather rash judgements on what the Dwemer are and aren’t capable of; their technology isn’t remarkably different than what historical artifacts suggest. The only thing that makes this particularly brutal is that nobody alive has ever had to fight it. I do best when I’m digging up old artifacts and making sense of my discoveries, not waiting to die as sword fodder for someone else’s war. I don’t wear the armour of the Legions, I didn’t swear fealty to Emperor Mede, and I certainly don’t owe allegiance to lofty ideals set by those who lord over us. Songs are written about conquerors and great heroes, not the thousands that died for them to achieve that dream. Go ahead, name any random conscript from the Great War. Unless you know them, you can’t.

“And that’s the problem, Gregor; I’m not prepared to be forgotten to history because someone else’s war fell on our doorstep. I’ll honour my mentor by doing what he taught me to do, and maybe if I find anything worthwhile, I’ll pass it along to the war effort. You don’t become an expert at something if you just… don’t do it in favour of some foolish notion a war can be won entirely by sword and shield.” she said with a dismissive wave of the hand.

Like snow melting in the sunlight, Gregor's chiding look vanished and was replaced by a smile from one second to the next. “Fair enough,” he said casually and moved his cheese plate back in front of him as he relaxed into his seat again. He broke eye contact to pick at the cheese with his fork and took a few bites, appearing to thoughtfully evaluate his food. Internally, he was screaming. Daro’Vasora had no idea who she was talking to, being the next person in a long line of people over the last decade to be deceived into thinking he was an upstanding citizen -- that was precisely his intention, but Gregor was tired and pulled taut and a part of him yearned to interact with someone earnestly instead of always having to play these games.

The Pale Reaper hushed him to be quiet.

“I'm not suggesting you should be a soldier, by the way,” Gregor said at length and looked up again. “You would obviously be wasted as sword fodder. I'm just saying the Empire needs all the capable help, in any capacity, that it can get. You're smart, Daro'Vasora, you know the Dwemer better than most. What are their weaknesses? Where did they come from? Where would you go to find out? And if you don't care about the Empire, fine. Care for its people. My family is in the line of fire, for example. But disregarding even them -- do it for yourself. You know who won't be forgotten to history? The treasure hunter who discovered how to beat the Dwemer. History doesn’t remember the countless dead, true, but it also doesn’t remember those who ran from the great conflicts of their time.” Gregor's smile widened and he took another long sip of wine, carefully observing her reaction over the edge of his goblet.

Her eyes widened, disposition changing to something decidedly more childish and excitable. “Oh, really? Maybe they’ll make me a statue and children will pretend to be me when I’m long decomposed!” she let out a feminine giggle before her face returned to its default sardonic expression. “You completely misunderstand my point. People get goaded into this shit all the time, all across history, because the very small handful of leaders and divinely chosen heroes make promises of glory and honour, riches, a nation of their own, women, blah blah blah..” she rolled her eyes, taking another large bite out of her meal.

“Look, Gregor, I really don’t care about what happens to most people because everyone dies eventually and trying to stop major regional events is like standing in front of a boulder that’s crashing down a hill to save your friend. You may believe you can stop it, and who knows? Maybe a few trees will catch it and change its course. But more often than not, you and your friend are going to die.

“I’m pragmatic; I care only about my little world. If it’s not some damned deep elves, it’ll be the Dominion, or a future Emperor with a mental tick and delusions of grandeur. All of them will be washed away in time, for someone like me to dig through their precious junk and pawn it off like it’s worth a few drinks and maybe some new clothes. Sentiment is meaningless, but people pay a lot for it.” she paused, swirling her glass in thought. “So tell me; do you honestly think you’re going to stand in the way of an army from hurting your family, or would the smart thing to do would be beat them to it and get them away before the storm hits? How many Legionnaires do you suppose marched off to war to find out they can’t rush home to protect their family from a well-executed counter offensive? What are you going to do that saves your family?” she asked, starring with interest at the Imperial’s face. Was he all hubris and nationalism, or was there a sense of self in there, she wondered.

Gregor has obviously spent too much time in Skyrim, he realised. Daro'Vasora's pragmatic cynicism was the polar opposite of the reckless and daring Nords that he had become used to. Gregor hated it. She was being smart and careful, which meant she was entirely uncooperative, and she had interpreted his words in a way that made her think he was an idiot. He said nothing at first as a look of simmering resentment passed over his face, his exhaustion preventing him from masking his emotions as he usually did. He clenched his jaw and ground his teeth and then finally sighed relentingly.

“It’s more complicated than you think,” he said, lowering his voice and leaning in closer. “I have my own, very good reasons to stay involved in this war. The Dwemer… have something I need. Something valuable that they’re not very much willing to part with. You know what they’re like.” He opened his mouth to continue but closed it again. How could he explain this to Daro’Vasora without actually explaining it to her? He looked more forlorn than ever. “I can’t tell you what it is but I need it to save my family and myself from a fate worse than death. And I need help.”

That certainly hit a nerve, and while Daro’Vasora was content to bask in a smug victory against the blatant manipulation attempt, his sudden earnestness caught her off guard. She regarded him with a steady gaze, attempting to scry Gregor’s rugged features for more deception. She came up short.

At last, she replied, “What could the Dwemer possibly offer you that you cannot find elsewhere?” she asked. “Why do you think this could save your family, and why come to me for this? I studied the ancient ruins and technology, all of this living Dwemer business is entirely new and unknowable for me as it is for you.” she replied, shifting in her seat and feeling somewhat taken aback by Gregor’s change of tact. This didn’t feel like him trying to change tact to convince her to join him, instead it felt like he pulled back a layer of himself and exposed a raw part of his being for her to pry into. While she understood that having someone with some familiarity with the Dwemer was probably a wise course of action, what she couldn’t figure out what was exactly he was after.

And there they were, the prying questions Gregor had dreaded as soon as he had finished speaking. There was no other option than to lie about it -- he only needed to get close enough to a Dwemer lord, after all. The precise details of what he was looking for could be fabricated, if he was able to think quickly now. As if on cue he was struck by a jolt of inspiration and Gregor moved conspiratorially even closer to Daro’Vasora before answering her questions. “A cure,” he whispered. This wasn’t strictly true, of course, but it was the ultimate goal of his journey, and he had discovered previously that lies worked best when they contained a coating of truth. “My family is cursed with a degenerative disease that robs us of our minds when we reach middle age. I watched my father waste away because of it. He died within a few months after his brain forgot how to breathe. The priests call it Vaermina’s Theft. The alchemists have a… different name for it. And even the mages of the Arcane University know of it. What they all have in common is that they have no cure. My father’s last few years on this world were spent exploring every available avenue to him, to no avail. The last thing he found before he died was an old book about the Dwemer,” Gregor lied, his speech quickening as he wrapped himself up in the deception he was conconcting, “that claimed they were capable of great longevity and preservation of their minds.”

Gregor’s index finger had tapped the table with great force repeatedly to emphasize his last five words, and the feverish look in his eyes affirmed the utmost importance he placed on this (fake) discovery. “That’s what I need. I didn’t come to you specifically, Daro’Vasora -- I just ran into you here -- but I need the help of every expert on the Dwemer that I can find. I need to get my hands on an ancient Dwemer lord of some kind, one who might be likely to know their secrets. And then all I need to do is reach in,” he said breathlessly, his hand contorted into a claw-like shape, his gaze staring into the middle distance, “and take it.”


Reflexively, Daro’Vasora straightened her back as Gregor drew closer, finding the suddenly closing distance between the two somewhat uncomfortable and his words, reach in and take it made a chill run down the Khajiit’s spine. In all of her travels and studies, she had never come across anything resembling what this book Gregor claimed to have read contained, and for all she knew, it was a convincing fable or a fake that he had latched onto in desperation. Something in his tone and the intensity in his eyes startled her, and she found her hand resting on the table knife out of reflex. This was a side to the man that she had no idea lurked beneath the normally tranquil exterior, and she had no idea if it meant he was a crazed man or not. She had no reason to doubt that his motives, protecting his family were genuine, but something about him made her feel like he’d latched onto the most obscure thought out of desperation and reason had left him somewhere along the way. She could sense that the man was dangerous, and not just with his prowess with the large sword he carried.

“A cure.” She replied, looking around both in thought and for a potential escape route, if the need arose. She hoped that Baan Daar would provide an escape if needed and that she was misreading the whole situation. “Look, I sympathize with how you feel for your family, I’d just be careful not to put too much into an unverified source.” She said delicately, not wishing to trigger an intense reaction. “I, too, wish to see the Dwemer pay for what they’ve done, but I’ve never encountered anything like what you’ve described, and… ancient Dwemer? There’s no way of knowing if these are the same ones who disappeared ages ago or their distant ancestors without careful research to corroborate this thought. I feel you might be going about this irrationally, or with false hopes that your problems will find a tidy solution under a strict form.” Her teeth grounded together, and she definitely felt a bit nervous being across from him. What was this man willing to do to chase what might have been a false lead as if it were the only truth? “Please, do not be rash or think that you’ve found an answer without knowing for sure. Maybe they do have some sort of medicine you need, but that wouldn’t require anything more than finding one of their doctors. I’ll think about what you’re asking, but I really need to consider what my own family needs, and a fool of a daughter who is chasing the intangible certainly isn’t that.”

Gregor sighed. “Very well,” he said and sank back in his seat, suddenly deflated. “You said you’ll think about it, and that’s all I ask.” He sounded exhausted now, as if the impassioned confession had drained him entirely, and looked down at the table. After a few seconds, his eyes snapped back into focus and he saw the cheese platter he’d ordered and only taken a few bites of. He set about to devouring it now and interspersed his voracious bites with big swigs of wine. It seemed he had nothing more to say.

The shift in intensity was certainly welcome, although Daro’Vasora couldn’t help but feel pity for Gregor’s predicament. They sat in silence for a spell, and the Khajiit’s thoughts lingered on her sister, who was going to visit later in the month. Her family probably didn’t know she was still alive, and the realization stung. Picking up a fork, she took a few more bites from her meal before returning her gaze to Gregor. “It’s plain that your family’s dear to you or you wouldn’t be going through this insane quest of yours. Tell me about them.”

That made Gregor blink and look up. He thought for a few seconds, swallowed, and said: “My father’s name was Hector. He died… ten years ago. My mother, Gaia, I think is still alive, but I honestly don’t know. I haven’t been home in a long time. My younger brother Marcus took over my father’s business. And I have a sister, Julia. They’re good, honest, hard-working people. Our parents raised us well.” Then the image of a raven-haired woman with eyes like sapphires flashed through his mind’s eye and he visibly winced, absent-mindedly scratching his left forearm as he did so. “I left everything behind after my father died. As the oldest son it is my duty to finish my father’s quest and find a cure for us. It was his last request. If I don’t succeed, we’ll all end up like him, and that’s… I can’t let that happen. My family doesn’t know that’s why I left. They wouldn’t understand that this is what it takes. My father knew that only I would be capable of doing so, which is why he left this task to me.” Gregor smiled sadly and shrugged. “You must think I’m crazy. I promise you that I’m not. I know what I’m doing.”

“I don’t think you’re crazy, but the focus and drive might be. I understand and sympathize, I truly do. I just think that you may be so fixated on one potential option that you’re failing to see the danger, or discounting other courses of action.” she replied, blinking slowly and letting out a long exhale. “Perhaps there is merit to what you are proposing, and I don’t fault you for what you feel is the only shot at saving your loved ones, but take it from me; it’s when the treasure is in sight when you must truly be the most vigilant. If you let your guard down thinking you’ve overcome all of the obstacles, you may lose everything before you even touch the prize. I’ve plundered enough ruins to have known that’s a universal lesson that doesn’t just apply to treasure.”

Reaching over, the Khajiit placed a hand over Gregor’s, the pads of her hands resting gently upon his much smoother skin.

“All I’m trying to say is don’t act before knowing all the details, or you’ll have spent years away from Gaia, Marcus, and Julia for nothing and lost what little time with them you could have had left. I can’t promise anything, I need to do some soul searching to know what path I should take, but if I do decide to continue taking up arms against the Dwemer, I will help you try and find those answers you seek. Be brave, but not foolish.” she cautioned, her tone gentle while her gaze remained stern. She wasn’t one for smiling, so it tended to misdirect genuine sympathy for bluntness.

Part of Gregor felt like a young man again, the jewelsmith apprentice who lived in a cozy house with a wonderful wife in Bravil, ignorant of the hardships and cruelty of the world, when Daro’Vasora laid her hand on his and spoke her words of wisdom. He wanted to listen to her, to succumb to someone else’s ideas, let them take the lead in determining what the possibilities were and what risks he should take -- it had been such a heavy burden. But the iron core inside his mind wouldn’t allow it. That other part of him knew that Daro’Vasora’s advice was worthless. She had no idea what she was talking about. There were no other options left or Hector would have found them before he died. The lie that Gregor had spun for Daro’Vasora was actually somewhat plausible, now that he stopped to think about it, but she was right that it was a gamble and probably not even true. She didn’t know what Gregor was really planning, however, and that meant she was giving advice blindly. And that really annoyed that other part of him. Gregor could feel the resentment and the indignation simmering behind his eyes: who was this cat practically half his age to warn him of anything, who knew nothing of the true nature of his cause? If Gregor faltered now, he did not only risk his own family’s fate but also that of his very soul, for the gods would not be kind to him after everything that had happened. For a split second he imagined slamming Daro’Vasora’s arrogant face into the tabletop and condemning her to an eternity of suffering in the Soul Cairn. The moment passed as soon as it had come and Gregor, shaken, averted his gaze while pulling his hand back and into his lap.

“Of course,” he said softly. “I must keep an open mind. Thank you.”

“Don’t mention it.” she replied, gesturing to the food. “Might as well eat. It’s not getting any warmer.”

The Moonpath

Everything looked like it was in place, and now all that was left was to take the step that there was no coming back from. Daro’Vasora’s throat was tight with anxiety and anticipation as she stared down at the white crystals that seemed to have a red-purple tinge in the candlelight below her on the room’s nightstand. She paused, recalling after Hector left her presence and she had claimed her room that Roux had provided, she felt at a loss and conflicted about what she should do. With a heavy soul and no particular desire to do what she knew needed to be done, Daro’Vasora headed out into the night towards the merchant stalls she recalled from earlier and it did not take her long to find a Khajiiti sweets merchant that sold a number of pastries from under a red tarp with gold trim, the twin crescent pattern so popular with her kinsman prevalent in the center in golden thread.

“May J’Mazzri interest such a lovely one such as yourself in some lemon tarts or sweetrolls? It is near the end of this one’s day, so he offers his wares for half of the listed price.” The merchant, an orange-furred Tojay-raht, a man-faced breed with typical cat ears that rarely were seen outside of the Elsweyr kingdoms; they must have been born abroad.

“Actually, I need to walk the moonpath and require Khenarthi’s grace. The crystalised lifeblood of Jone and Jode. Would you be able to assist me?” Daro’Vasora asked. The merchant nodded, receiving a small folded cloth from within a bucket and sliding it into a woven handbag. “J’Mazzri includes a bit of the sugar in most of his creations, but only a small amount so it does not arouse suspicion. But for Azurah’s children, we must help each other where we can far from home.” He bowed and was surprised to see a few coins placed in front of his nose.

“I’ll take three of those lemon tarts, as well.” she had said.

Since then, one of the tarts were gone, and she’d labouriously melted the moon sugar down in a bowl over a candle flame and made sure that Jone and Jode were visible through the window above. There wasn’t an exact incantation or prayer for this, at least not something most Khajiit outside of the Lunar Priests would know, but generally this was a fairly informal affair. It just happened to be one that Daro’Vasora hated doing. When the sugar had melted into something she could take back in a quick drink, she stripped down to avoid tarnishing her new clothing, locked the door, and opened the window to let a breeze through. Having put it off long enough, the Khajiit let out a long sigh and drank from the bowl, the incredibly potent sweetness almost immediately hitting a sense of euphoria. She sat upon the floor, where she’d laid out the blankets, and stared up at the moons, her vision growing bright and unfocused to the point of discomfort that she quickly stopped feeling as her body absorbed the moon sugar. She closed her eyes and she felt weightless, barely feeling the rise and fall of her breathing.

When her eyes opened again, she stood upon a bridge that floated incomprehensibly among the stars, green auroras dancing around enticingly as the torch-lit bridge led to a long set of stairs. She was now garbed in a simple red gown that was reminiscent of the plain robes that the lunar priestesses wore. The architecture was similar to what one would find in Dune, although she’d never been there herself; it was what she’d been told by those who occupied this place, a gateway of sorts to the sands beyond the stars where her ancestors and Khajiiti spirits could meet her partway, the nexus between living and death. At first she’d wondered if it were just a drug induced hallucination that played out entirely in her mind, but the consistency of multiple visits and information relayed that she couldn’t have possibly known made he feel that the moon sugar had helped her walk the moonpath and transport her spirit across the light of the moons to this place to speak with those who came before.

She just really didn’t care to visit the extended family very often. It was seldom a warm experience.

Her bare feet began to cross the heavy and warm stones beneath her steps, feeling as if they were baking in the hot desert sun, even without the presence of a star to warm them. The stair climb was exactly forty steps, each one somehow both weathered and frozen in time, a snapshot of some ancient place that was removed from the mortal world. As she climbed, torches ignited in blue flames; Shani-Ko had a flare for the dramatic. Daro’Vasora reached the stop and stepped through an archway flanked by two Pahmar, the tiger like Khajiit laying on individual dias, their coats taking on an ethereal glow. Ahead, a crescent shaped platform stood raised up above a smaller circular one, which she walked to stand upon. Those she needed were already waiting.

Shani-Ko, a massive Senche-raht sat towering over the others, over 4 meters from toe to the top of her head, her tiger-like face and form giving her a ferocious profile that Daro’Vasora could only see as a kindly woman who loved her family and seemed to have infinite patience. Looming yellow eyes stared down at the smaller woman, who regarded the Clan Mother fondly. Daro’Vasora’s lineage came from Shani-Ko, who had existed on Tamriel long before the men arrived from Atmora. She knelt before Shani-Ko, bowing her head in respect. “Clan Mother, this one is honoured to once again be in your presence.”

“There is no need for such deference, Ma’Khajiit. It has always been a special occasion when family comes to visit an old woman such as myself.” Shani-Ko smiled, allowing herself to lay down as to not be so monolithic and spare Daro’Vasora’s neck. “You are troubled and seek advice.” she mentioned.

“She only turns to us when it is convenient to remember that she is Khajiit and not Man. She prostates herself to the same Imperials that enslaved our people and wretched Leyawiin from us. She is ashamed of who she is, and she idolized those that have taken so much from us.” a much more scornful voice came from Shani-Ko’s right, a male Cathay that was of the same breed Daro’Vasora was, his spotted grey coat was comparable to her own. “Or did these Nibanese men reward you for putting aside your people and culture to embrace their own? Have you forgotten they were the ones that slaughtered Maakro-ra when they subjugated Leyawiin?” he demanded.
A ghostly image apparated before Daro’Vasora of the same Khajiit being dragged across the floor towards a man dressed in the distinctive armour of an early Septim dynasty officer from the 2nd era, after the Three Banners War and the beginning of the unification era under the new Empire. The Khajiit starred defiantly at the officer.

“Surrender the garrison and your people will be spared.” The man requested calmly.

“Merrunz take you.” the Khajiit snarled. The defiant look quickly faded as the broad blade was thrusted into his throat, covering it with blood that spurted from his mouth. The image faded away, like sand blowing across a street. Daro’Vasora rolled her eyes.

“Ah yes, this one recalls that particular image. You must be fond of it, esteemed elder, since you show it to me each and every time Daro’Vasora comes to speak with you.” She remarked dryly. Maakro-ra snarled in response.

“And as many times as it takes, Ma’Khajiit. You continue fraternizing with these men and forgetting what your ancestors have done to ensure you have that choice! You have known nothing but peace and comfort until now, and you forget that the reason you were not born into bondage and servitude is because of the sacrifices of those who came before.” Maakro-ra replied angrily.

“Should this one hold the successors of the men who murdered you accountable of actions of those born thousands of years before, or should she appreciate the peace that the honourable ones have made in the years since?” Daro’Vasora asked. “The Empire that exists today is not the Septims, this one was not even born when Martin Septim died to save Tamriel from Merrunz. Did he not redeem the actions of his ancestors with that sacrifice? What would appease you, Maakro-ra? Submitting herself to the whims of the fucking Thalmor like Pelletine and Anequina seemed eager to do?” she stood, not wishing to show deference to this man. She crossed her arms defiantly.

“Insolence.” Maakro-ra stated, lips curling over the left side of his teeth. “The High Elves have always given the Khajiit autonomy and treated us as partners rather than servants.” he didn’t seem to have a retort for her other points.

“You died two Aldmeri Dominions ago, elder. Try to keep informed. Much like the men of today are not like the ones who came before, the High Elves of today have taken a darker path that only promises suffering for all who fall under their banner. But Daro’Vasora is not a citizen of the Kingdoms, she has much more pressing matters than what megalomaniac elves have planned for the continent.” Daro’Vasora said, turning back to Shani-Ko. “Today, the Deep Elves of the North have returned, and this one feels responsible for what they’ve done. Mighty cities have fallen, the Empire might be shattered, and this one fears the Thalmor will continue to take advantage of this chaos to press their own machinations.”

“Good. Let the Empire fall.” Maakro-ra interrupted defiantly. It was the Senche-raht that snarled, silencing the Cathay into submission, her vocals making the chamber echo, even with the open stars above.

“Continue, child.” Shani-ko assured Daro’Vasora.

“This one has tried to fight them, they killed her mentor and friend, who was family to her. The loss has split this one’s heart, and she fears for the family she has left in Leyawiin. However, she knows she cannot make it home because of this war, so she must continue along a path, but none are bright. There is an obligation to those she survived the Jerall Mountains with, and her heart feels drawn to a Breton man that had protected and saved her from the Falmer, a legacy of Dwemer cruelty. This one wants vengeance, but it has cooled after seeing their capacity of cruelty and unimaginable power. Baan Daar has guided her hands and feet, she is sure of it, but even his blessings cannot account for every action taken against Daro’Vasora.

“She has also been requested to help another Imperial in his own personal quest to save his own family while hurting the Dwemer, and a former partner has requested this one’s services again to hunt for relics belonging to civilizations that no longer exist, and she admits it has an appeal and familiarity. This one is torn between doing what she knows would be just and looking after her own interests. “ Her hands wrung together, and she had to resist fidgeting.

“She does not wish to die or dishonour Zegol by throwing her life away, but she has skills and experience that might make a difference against the Dwemer as Gregor has pointed out. Latro has been kind and affection towards this one, and has done more to help her than anyone in some time. Judena is a friend and more wise than Daro’Vasora in things of historical value, and with her corrupted memory, she may be lost to this war and Tamriel would be poorer for it.” She paused, looking up at Shani-ko pleadingly. “This one does not know which path to follow.”

Another voice apparated to the Senche-raht’s left. “If I might interject, you’ll have to forgive Maakro-ra for his distrust. His circumstances were far different than most others; I feel he would have learned to love the world you inhabit if given the chance.” The man was Darenja the Intrepid, an Ohmes who was a handsome individual with bold features and a warrior’s braid of long blonde hair trailing out behind his head while his face and temples were covered in feline-reminiscent tattoos. They were his only features that distinguished him from a Bosmer, and his cross between Khajiiti and Bosmeri fashions only led to the visual dissonance.

“I served in the Three Banner War under Queen Ayrenn, a most honourable and beloved ruler, and I had been assigned as a liaison to our Bosmeri allies to the East to promote integration and trust between our people, who had suffered from great wars in the past. What made the First Aldmeri Dominion so powerful was it was an alliance built on respect and mutual support, and Ayrenn was a champion for all of our people. She could have easily have stood for Summerset and her own people, but she moved the Dominion’s capital to Elden Root and personally oversaw the resolution of numerous internal crisis of each of our three people.” Darenja brought a fist down into a palm. “It made us powerful and unified. I was honoured when I was asked to serve alongside our Bosmeri allies, and with them, they learned how to think and fight like a Khajiit, and I like them. Together, we shared our cultures and our dreams, I even took a Bosmer to be my wife. We served on both sides of our borders, and into Cyrodiil. Where the Daggerfall Covenant was based around Breton dominance and distrust in outsiders, and the Ebonheart Pact was filled with three races who mutually hated one another and only fought towards a mutual goal out of necessity, the Dominion was a force of cohesion and respect, only made stronger by allowing ourselves to be enriched by our allies.”

Darenja smiled, looking fondly at Daro’Vasora. “That’s one thing you’ve never understood or appreciated about yourself, Daro’Vasora. Maakro-ra is right in one regard; you have been ashamed of who you are ever since you earned your honourific; you have always thought it meant thief, like a badge of shame. Daro means you are nimble of fingers and quick of your tongue; you’ve had incredible wits about you and true, while much of the title was earned from your manipulation of locks, it does not mean that you are forever branded a thief like you feared. It has turned your heart cold to others, and trust is not something that comes easy to yourself.

“It has made you reject the skin you wear in your pursuit of identifying by the Cyrodiilic culture that you were born into. Without realizing it, you honour the Khajiit you are by the curiosity and pursuit of knowledge that drives you, and the nimble lifting of artifacts without being burdened by worry of if it’s wrong. You treat your life as if there is one side to sow and cultivate while letting the other wither and die because you feel cursed by the fur and claws that people see when they gaze upon you. Without realizing it, you’ve justified your actions to anything but the Khajiit you are, and it has created a chasm in your soul that can be mended by realizing that you do not have to embrace either Imperial or Khajiit at the expense of the other; your body and your mind will be whole when you learn they are one in the same. You feel that Imperial means order while Khajiit means chaos, and to follow that path, you sacrifice everything you’ve worked for.” he shook his head, making a flippant gesture.

“Nonsense; you’ve followed our gods since the day you were born, and you never just introduced yourself as Vasora to strangers.” He swept his arm across the chamber, grinning broadly. “You remember how to come here and speak to those who came before, sometimes fondly, other times rudely, but never boringly. If you learned to accept yourself and find peace, and stopped driving others away from you, your mind with be much more decisive. You know in your heart what you must do, but it seems to me every time you’ve found yourself lost or facing failure, it’s because you rejected the obvious solutions that the cultures that define you would have created. You struggle over whether or not to accept this Roux’s offer; that is the Imperial part of you entertaining it. Listen to the feline parts of you that lead you here this evening, Daro’Vasora. Embrace the wits that define you.”

“This one… she will think of what you have told her, Darenja.There is wisdom to be heard.” Daro’Vasora said to the Ohmes, placing a balled fist into a flat hand, bowing towards him, trying to hide the tears that had begun to well up in her eyes. She didn’t want to lose her composure, not here. She had to keep a clear mind, unimpeded thoughts.

“Look to me, Ma’Khajiit.” A deep and rich feminine voice called to her. She looked towards Shani-ko, who gazed down upon her with an almost motherly gaze. “You struggled to find your place in Leyawiin, among your family. It felt confining to you because the part of you you suppress wanted to see the world and find her own identity, even though if you applied yourself, you could have found success and honour in the Imperial courts. But that is not what it means to be Daro’Vasora, is it? The lesson you took from that, after you earned your honourific and were sent by your father to live with Zegol was that something shameful existed within you that made your family ashamed.” The large Senche-raht stood and walked towards Daro’Vasora, reaching out and gently taking her face into a single large toe, a surprisingly natural gesture from someone of such a great stature.

“They have always been proud of you, and while they miss you terribly, they knew that you would find your own path. You will find a warm hearth any time you return to them, and feel the love you’ve left out of your heart for the years since, that you’ve reserved for so few. These people, these friends of yours, do not turn your back on them and discard them like so many others. Walk the path your heart tells you and you will never make a wrong step; should you choose, and should you learn to trust and embrace those around you again, you could do great things, Daro’Vasora. Great accomplishments are in your future, and you can make a difference to so many lives. Do not feel responsible for the course that history has taken, but you have allowed fear and guilt steer you; allow yourself to feel brave and compassionate.”

Her form, along with the chamber, began to lose focus and shift. “It is time for us to part ways once more, Daro’Vasora.” Shani-ko said solemnly, her great maw smiling compassionately at the young woman who was one of those in her line that still had a long journey before finding her way to the sands beyond the stars. “This one loves you, and will be with you, even if you cannot see her.”

“Maakro-ra loves you, and he knows you will find the right path.”

“As do I, I eagerly await what tales will be spoken of Daro’Vasora in the years to come.”

“Go now, Ma’Khajiit.” Shani-ko said, chuckling softly, more of her body shifting into sand like an hourglass in its final seconds. “May your roads lead you to warm sands.”

Everything shifted and blew away suddenly, and Daro’Vasora found herself staring at the stone wall and wooden frame window in front of her, the euphoric numbness that she had felt for who-knows-how-long faded with each ebbing heartbeat. The warmth and comfort she felt was replaced by a shivering cold that she felt, her naked body shaking on the floor as the moon sugar withdrawal took hold. Tears streamed down her face as she began to sob.

“She loves you.” she managed with the slightest of breaths, feeling utterly alone and lost.

Sin & Sanctity

Before Dawn, 24th of Last Seed, 4E208
Chapel of Dibella, Anvil
_{ft. @Stormflyx}

Gregor stared up at the chapel towering over him in the twilight with an inscrutable look on his face. During his time in Anvil the chapel’s unavoidable spire, its height far exceeding any of the other buildings inside the city walls, had been a constant source of irritation. It was a stark reminder of Gregor’s strained relationship with the Divines and of the precarious state of his soul. Undeserved, Gregor thought grimly. Once he had achieved his goals and attained immortality for himself and his family, the deaths of the innocents he had slain by mistake and the Vigilants that had threatened to destroy everything would not be in vain. He would have an eternity to set things right.

But while the gods condemned him and his actions, Gregor’s family was innocent of his crimes. He worried for their safety now that the Dwemer had invaded Cyrodiil but returning home to try to save them wasn’t an option. He was afraid that if he saw them now, he would not have the strength to leave them again while his task was not yet complete. And besides, the path back to Bravil was not one Gregor believed he would survive. So, after a mostly sleepless night, Gregor had decided to follow Calen’s advice after all and found himself on his way to pray for their safety. He wasn’t sure if the Divines would hear him but he had to try, even if it was only for his own peace of mind. He took a deep breath, pushed open the massive door slightly and slipped inside.

It was even cooler inside the chapel than the crisp morning air outside, but instead of enjoying it Gregor just felt uncomfortable. The air had that stuffy quality one only ever found inside old cathedrals and libraries. His eyes adjusted to the gloom and he looked around warily for a few seconds before he caught himself doing so. What was he afraid of? It wasn’t like Arkay himself was going to lunge at him from behind a pillar and drag him down to the underworld, and the chapel was empty this early in the morning. Even so he could feel judging eyes stare at him from the shadows between the pillars and the pews. Ridiculous. The Imperial muttered a quiet admonishment under his breath and walked over to the shrines, the clink-clank of his steel boots echoing in the sacred silence.

Raelynn walked quietly, her hands placed in front of her in a relaxed fashion, resting against her abdomen and brushing against the silk like fabric of her dress. She couldn't sleep well and had found herself awake at such an early time in the morning. The sun barely even rising yet. It was unusual for her to be unable to find sleep. She thought to finally visit the Chapel of Dibella and place an offering there - in her mind hoping it would help to bring her some clarity as to how to move forward and which path to choose. To stay with the current company and assist them. To stay with Alim, or to return to High Rock. She imagined that the Chapel would be all but empty at this frightfully early hour. She wanted to slip in, leave her offering and just take a contemplative walk around the grounds.

She rarely took moments to just breathe and appreciate everything around her. To take a moment to stop and be present without having to think of how to act, what to say or what to do. The moment that Raelynn had shared with Alim just days prior confused her still, and lay lingering in her mind and resting on her conscience. She partly wished she hadn’t bothered tending to him. The way that he had reacted to her. He barely knew her. How could he call her a friend with such sincerity?

She had already exchanged some coin for a bunch of magenta peonies earlier in the week, knowing that she would come to the Chapel finally. They smelled exquisite and fresh, and it brought a smile to her face to inhale their scent. She felt very unlike herself in moments like this, in private moments. Maybe she would take one or two of the flowers and dry them out later as a keepsake. As she grew nearer to the chapel, she saw that it was indeed quiet, she could hear only faint sounds of ocean waves lapping against a still and quiet shore and the birdsong over head. As she breezed by, she noticed someone kneeling in front of the shrine inside. A figure she instantly recognised. It was Gregor.

All of a sudden she felt her heart race in her chest, unsure of what to do and how to act. Maybe she could wait a moment or two and allow him to do whatever it was he was doing. Would that not make it more awkward? Would that not in some way be more disruptive? No. She wasn’t going to wait, and instead she crept quietly through the door that he had left ajar, the flowers stacked in their bouquet in her arms she took quiet footsteps towards the shrine herself. Words already forming in her mind for when he inevitably noticed her presence.

“Dibella, I come not for myself today but for my family,” Gregor whispered as he knelt by the altar, his face cast down and his eyes closed. “I implore you to provide them with a happy life full of love in these times of conflict. Gaia, Marcus and Julia are their names. Should the Dwemer attack Bravil… please. I know you won’t help me, but please help them. That’s all.” He remained where he was for a minute longer, motionless until his hand reached out to touch the stone edifice. It was cold and unyielding. No answer or warmth of a blessing came. His hand balled into a fist and he was about to say something decidedly heretical when he heard footsteps behind him and looked over his shoulder to see the last person he expected inside the chapel: Raelynn.

Gregor got to his feet and turned his back to the altar. “Raelynn… what brings you here?” he asked. His tone was not entirely welcoming.

She was taken slightly aback at his obvious tone as she came upon the altar herself, choosing not to stop and greet him with her eyes because of it. “Well, I’m doing the same thing that you are perhaps. In this public space…” If she had not been so tangled up in her own thoughts, she may have had a more biting response for him. The best she could do was ignore him in the way of sidelining him entirely. “I could ask you the same question, I remember you telling me that your relationship with the Gods is less than favourable.” She hadn’t really meant to say it, but it felt right -- to give him a sharp reminder of what he had told her.

With her back to him, she began placing her flowers down across the altar methodically, one-by-one posing them and brushing their soft petals with her fingers to arrange them as neatly as possible. She bit her lip as a slightly frustrated sigh slipped out and she stopped moving momentarily. “I’m sorry,” she realised that her comment was harsh and that she needed to smooth it over with something else to turn his attention from it, “I… gather that you thought you could go without seeing me again after our night together then?”

“That is usually what happens, yes,” Gregor admitted, but the hard edge in his voice had disappeared. He moved closer to Raelynn and leaned forward a little, lowering his voice so that they couldn’t be overheard in case anyone decided to enter the chapel at that moment for their own early-morning prayers. “You’re right. I don’t enjoy being here. I came here to pray for my family’s safety. The Divines have no love for me anymore but my family has done nothing wrong, so I hope that Stendarr will keep an eye out for them all the same. I didn’t mean to be so rude. I’m the one that should apologize.” He almost reached up to touch Raelynn’s shoulder but thought better of it. The sight of her now, seemingly so innocent, wearing a dress and laying down flowers, was such a far cry from the depraved temptress of before that Gregor’s trepidation melted away.

That's more like it… she thought to herself, feeling him draw closer to her with his apology. Instantly she found herself warming to him again, she could sense his intensity behind her. As she finished with the flowers she turned around to face him, lured immediately to his eyes. She gave him an enticing smile, “I must confess, if I had been the first to wake, I might have done the same to you... “ She eyed him up and down, knowing what was under his clothes quite well. “It was a shame we didn't wake together. I don't think I was done having fun with you,” admitting that to him almost brought a blush to her cheeks. She stopped smiling and returned to a serious composure once more, not allowing herself to slip straight to tempting him like that. She allowed her eyes to fall to the floor, “I think it's very honourable of you to do such a thing for your family Gregor.” Her voice was quiet, a gentle whisper in the cold marble hall.

He laughed, but there was no mirth to it. “Everything I do is for my family. This is nothing by comparison.” Gregor looked at her, even when she averted her gaze, and he wondered what she wanted from him now. It had seemed like she was trying to woo him back to bed for a moment but now he wasn’t sure. He had left her because he thought that, while their night together had been extraordinarily enjoyable, it was a distraction that he didn’t need, and it had brought out a side of him that Gregor tried to suppress and hide as much as possible. But was it really right to dismiss Raelynn as entirely unvirtuous based on one encounter? Maybe that had simply been what they both needed to unwind after the danger and tension of the last few weeks. Perhaps someone like Raelynn, who did not judge him immediately when the veil was slightly lifted, wasn’t so bad. The long years on the road had been so lonely...

Nobody was as good at manipulating Gregor as Gregor himself.

“Look at me,” he said softly and stepped in even closer. His eyes glanced around quickly, ensuring that the place was still empty. “I’m sorry I left. It’s… complicated.”

“You don’t need to explain,” she began, pulling her hair to one side - revealing her neck to Gregor in a casual manner as she lifted her eyes back to him now. He was not going to be so easy to crack this time, she would have to take a step back in order to step forwards with him. She slowly sunk down to sit on the steps of the altar below him. “I’m here for my family too, in a way. I had hoped being here would bring me some clarity and help me make a decision on something.” As she spoke, she twisted lengths of her hair around her fingers and looked up to him from her position. “I was unsure of whether or not to return to High Rock, or stay with the company. This war…” she took a breath in through her teeth, releasing her hair and wrapping her arms around herself, “it scares me.”

She sat pensively for a moment, before smiling, “you must think me foolish and cowardly,” once more she looked up to him, beckoning him with her eyes to sit down beside her, inviting him to be near her.

This was a side of her that Gregor had not seen before. He did as her eyes requested and sat down, taking care not to sit on his cloak (as always), and thought about her words for a bit. His gaze went around the chapel again and he smiled faintly. It was a fitting environment for such confessions. Was she a coward? He had thought Daro’Vasora was a coward when she expressed her lack of enthusiasm to stay engaged with the war. But the Khajiit was a different type of person with a different set of skills. Raelynn was a healer, not a warrior. Gregor wouldn’t expect Julia to march to war either.

“No,” he replied, his voice warm and comforting. He draped his arm across her back, his hand resting on her hips, and playfully pulled her a little closer. “It is far from foolish to fear war. If you wish to go back to High Rock, I don’t blame you. I just don’t think this is something any of us can run from. If the Dwemer overran the Imperial City like that, imagine what they’ll do with the rest of Tamriel. Sooner or later we will have to stand our ground. And if you care about this company, maybe you should do it with us.” He looked her in the eyes and almost added with me but caught himself in time.

Raelynn indulged in being closer to him, and thought about placing her head on his shoulder. Not yet. Instead she just listened to him. His argument was much like Alim’s, but she found herself more swayed by Gregor, especially as he ran his hand over one of her souvenir bruises. She smirked a little, before placing her hand on his comfortingly. “You make a solid case for it, and I can't argue that you're right about it. I know that I would be… needed by the company…” she looked back into his eyes, almost drowning in them. He was as hypnotizing to her as she was trying to be to him.

She found herself preparing to strike, like a coiled snake ready to pounce on its prey. She ran her hand across his again, moving it to his thigh and squeezed it gently, not wanting it to come across as overly sexual, but more a touch of acknowledgement and appreciation. “Thank you Gregor…”

The sensation of Raelynn’s hand on his thigh was enough to make his heartbeat quicken.. “You’re welcome,” he murmured. Her presence so close to him and her gaze locked into his were as enchanting as always, and her vulnerability and openness had surprised and disarmed him. She wasn’t just the succubus he had thought her to be. There was a real, endearing woman sitting next to him now. And now that he had relaxed… even if her touch was not improper, there was something about her that he just couldn’t resist.

She felt the energy around them was palpable, it was as it had been just a night ago. She sidled closer to him, pressing her body to his, she was now drawing out circles on his leg, looking him in the eye again, she bit her lip flirtatiously, fluttering her lashes ever so and lowering her gaze. “How do you suppose I stay and help the company when I…” she paused for a second, tempted to turn her face away. But she wanted him to watch her mouth when she said her last words. She was ready to strike, and so she leant in closer, the location spurring her on. It was an unholy statement to make, but she had worn him down enough to soften him up - to reach the point of no return once more. “How can I be of any help to anyone when I haven’t been able to stop thinking about your--” she spoke in a hushed and honeyed tone, a sultry purr, under Dibella’s altar, leaving the end of her words to Gregor’s ears only. It was like making an offer to a darker God.

Gregor bit his lip and closed his eyes when Raelynn whispered the last few words in his ear. It was such a heady feeling to have her say these things to him here, of all places, and an intense surge of lust felt like it was going to burst out of his chest as something electric singed through his limbs. He could feel the sinful heat of her rosy cheeks as his face brushed against hers until his lips found her mouth. He kissed her and pulled her close, his hands pressing roughly on her body through the fabric of her dress, resisting the desire to rip off her clothes and desecrate her there and then inside the empty chapel.

“Not here,” she moaned while pulling out of his kiss as she enjoyed the sensation of his hands grabbing at her body desperately, “I have a room at the Inn. I bet that we can sneak in unseen at this hour...” Her head was filled with all manner of images of lust and longing, the various things they could do, although as insatiable as she felt, this place was wrong. She took him by the hands and got herself to her feet to begin leading him away from the Sanctuary of the Chapel and to her bed.

The short walk back to the Inn would feel excruciatingly long, she was thinking of ways to make it longer - to draw out the tension and prolong their craving for each other. As she lead him away from the altar, she turned back to look at him over her shoulder -- her eyes wide and innocent, but the smile that began to creep over her lips was anything but. She would have him begging for her by the time they made it to their private space.

Gregor slowly rose to his feet and followed Raelynn at a languid pace. He knew what she was getting at -- well, two could play that game. They left the chapel looking the very picture of proper decorum: a gallant knight with a fair lady on his arm, taking a leisurely stroll through the streets. It was just as quiet outside as inside as the eastern sky began to colour orange with the impending dawn, leaving Gregor free to cast glances of undiluted desire at Raelynn. “I wonder if you look perfectly innocent again underneath that dress, or if it's still evident that I had my way with you,” he said to her softly, as two lovers might whisper and giggle in public.

“I may have left something to remember you by,” she said with a smug smile as she continued to walk with him. It was just in the same manner as they had walked together towards the Tavern for their first encounter, only this time they of course had their secret. “If I recall, I may have left some marks of my own on you… I can see that my favourites are gone.” She licked her lower lip as she brought up her hand to stroke his neck ever so, using the opportunity to tuck back his rogue strands of hair behind his ear. She liked people thinking that she was just straightening his appearance like that. She wondered what they would think if they could hear her thoughts. She wondered what Gregor would think if he could hear them too.

“Sorry about that,” Gregor replied with a wry smile. A delightful chill ran down his spine when her fingers touched the skin where she'd bitten down on and clawed him. The wounds might be gone but his body hadn't forgotten. “I don't normally come back for more. You're the first woman in ten years to achieve that.” He said it casually but the implication was much stronger than his tone suggested. Was it a good idea to admit that to her? Gregor didn't care anymore. There was something special about her and she deserved to know. He, too, raised his hand and gently touched her cheek with his fingers. It would look sweet to anyone who saw it, but Raelynn could see in Gregor's eyes that it belied a far more ferocious hunger.

She didn't know whether to feel honoured by such a statement. It had been by pure chance that their paths had crossed again, there was always that Gregor just never saw his past lovers - like he had tried to do with her, for what reason? She gave him a smile regardless, and placed her head against his arm, clinging tightly. “Well I don't ever really happen to act in such a manner in the first place…” she knew there was a good chance he wouldn't believe her. But it was true, she could count on one hand the lovers she had taken - including Gregor - it had never been all that interesting, truth be told. But the chemistry was undeniable between the two of them, it had outweighed anything else and now she was hooked on it. They approached the Flowing Bowl and Raelynn gave him a flirtatious look, stepping ahead just ever so. Not wanting to wait much longer.

That elicited a chuckle from him. “In a hurry, are we?” Gregor asked laconically, but he hastened his pace to follow her inside all the same. If there was anyone else from their party inside the Flowing Bowl Gregor didn't notice them, nor did he care. His eyes were fixed on Raelynn’s back, on the nape of her neck, on the movement of her hips. He followed her upstairs without another word and as soon as they stepped inside her room, Gregor closing the door behind them more quietly this time (as he was determined to cause no further structural damage to the inns of Anvil), he picked up Raelynn and threw her on the bed, a fervent look of desire on his face. He undid himself of his cloak and gear, letting it drop to the ground around him, until he was bare-chested, his tattoos on full display in the blossoming daylight that filtered in through the curtains.

She landed softly on the spread, and immediately positioned herself on her side, propping up her head with her hand, her long hair falling around her. In the dark of the room, the amber waves of dawn sunlight that did spill through made her usually ash toned hair shine like strands of gold. As she watched Gregor strip down in front of her, she placed her free forefinger into her mouth and bit down seductively. The Breton watched the muscles of his chest, paying attention to his tattoos - drawing herself free from the atmosphere -- unable to stop herself from making a comment about it. “Is that a statement, or purely an accident…?”

She had learned very early on that he was quite reserved when it came to matters of his past. She didn't know whether she wanted him to stay in this mood - the mood where he seemed genuinely happy and smitten, or flick the switch to his primal other self. The one she had met only nights ago. At the moment, she herself was smitten with both.

Gregor looked down at his chest, following Raelynn’s gaze, and quietly mouthed ‘oh’ when he realized what she was referring to. That. Arkay, his head crossed out by two diagonal scars across Gregor’s sternum, was artfully etched into his skin with black ink. It must have been a pretty bad look, combined with the Daedric symbol for Oblivion on his upper arm, if Raelynn was a devout and pious woman. Fortunately, she wasn’t. “Yes, it’s a statement,” he said in a low voice and slowly crawled on the bed with her on all fours. His face was austere and there was iron in his eyes. Despite that, he gently ran a finger across Raelynn’s bare arm as he contemplated his next words. How could he explain that he was a man who had betrayed allies and murdered innocents in a blind rage, all in the name of a cure for himself and his family? He knew what people were like. Nobody would understand that he was justified. The things that happened were… regrettable. But good men make mistakes and his intentions had always been noble. The Divines couldn’t see that, rigid and devoid of compassion as they were.

“I have done terrible things for a noble cause,” Gregor said at last, his voice now barely more than a whisper. “Some lives were lost for the sake of others. The gods condemn me for it, they withhold their blessings and are dismissive of my prayers. They don’t understand that my intentions are good, and I know that Arkay will not be kind on my soul if my time should come.” His nostrils flared as he exhaled sharply and his fingers dug into Raelynn’s arm. “Fuck him. I won’t submit to his judgement.”

Terrible things? she wondered as he began to get closer to her. The same look in his eye that she recognised from their first night together. She was slowly learning more about him, and to many, this would be a red flag to get away, to run. That, and the grip that he had on her arm. It was an enjoyable feeling that unnerved and prompted a soft whimper of pleasure from her. It turned her on. The thought of escaping crossed her mind, some part of her was telling her to ask him to leave -- but that was a small and insignificant voice. Nothing but a timid whisper, drowned out by the incredible lust and attraction to him she felt. It was crossing a line to be with him, but that made it so much more satisfying. He had such a darkness around him, he was the perfect storm and all she could think about was taming him for herself. She let him wait in silence and drew out the tension while he obviously waited for her to respond to his confession. Whether or not she would accept him as he was, or judge him.

It came to her -- once again she found herself in the position to pounce, smiling provocatively, she leant up to whisper into his ear, “I wouldn't expect someone like you to submit to anyone, Gregor. Fuck Arkay indeed.” She sat up and lifted her dress over her shoulders, tossing it to the floor on top of his clothes.This was it, she knew that she was now more involved with him than she thought she would have been, but knowing his secrets and seducing them out of him was a high she was now addicted to.

Her words were like moon sugar to him. The validation, however ill-informed, satisfied an aching and bruised part of Gregor’s soul that had been tormented by his conscience for years. His grim expression was replaced by a terribly insidious smile, fueled in equal parts by redoubled lust and relief. A part of him knew that he shouldn’t have said what he did and that her reaction wasn’t right, but his mind was so clouded by desire that he put those thoughts aside and moved on top of her. It was then that he noticed two bruises on her hips in the shape of his hands and he laughed, grabbing her there where she would still be awfully sore and pulling her body against his. “So that’s what you kept,” he purred as his fingers pressed hard into her flesh, his eyes staring into hers, their faces a mere inch away from one another. He wanted to see her pain, and her delight.

As his hands once again found their way to her hips, the sensation she felt was like nothing else. A mixture of pleasure and pain that excited her and gave her a rush. She felt it throughout her small frame as Gregor towered over her. But yet, she relaxed into him and into the moment, placing her lips against his, saying nothing. The quiet voice of concern muted entirely as his dominating presence gazed intensely into her eyes. She knew he would once again have his way with her body.